We’ve all been there. You’re sitting with a friend who’s going through something tough, and the advice just rolls off your tongue effortlessly. You tell them exactly what they need to hear—something clear, logical, and even wise. They nod, maybe even feeling a little better. Then you go home, face your own problems, and suddenly all that brilliant advice you dished out feels impossible to apply to your own life. So, why is it so hard to take our own advice?
It’s ironic, really. We can offer up advice with full confidence, knowing exactly what the “right” thing is to do in any given situation. We believe it when we say it—whether it’s to slow down, not sweat the small stuff, or just trust that things will work out. But when it comes to actually living that advice ourselves? Suddenly, it’s not so simple.
One reason is that we’re too close to our own problems. When you’re in the middle of a personal dilemma, it feels like everything is on the line. It’s messy, emotional, and complicated in ways that an outsider can’t fully understand. When we give advice to others, we can be objective. We see things from a distance, with clarity, without being caught up in all the feelings. But when we’re dealing with our own lives, that same distance is gone. Every decision feels weighted by fear, insecurity, and all the “what-ifs” that come crashing in.
Take a simple example. You might tell a friend to take a break and not stress so much about school or work. It seems obvious: burnout doesn’t lead to productivity, and taking time for yourself is necessary. But when it’s your workload piling up, the anxiety of falling behind kicks in, and suddenly, taking your own advice feels impossible. You end up stuck in the cycle of stress because your mind convinces you that your situation is somehow different, more urgent, or just too important to hit pause on.
We also often overestimate how much control we have over our emotions. Giving advice is easy because we’re not emotionally involved. We can see the logical solution and suggest it without being overwhelmed by the feelings that complicate things. But when it comes to following that advice ourselves, we forget how hard it is to actually act on logic when our emotions are screaming something else. We tell our friends not to overthink, but when we’re the ones lying awake at 3 a.m., our minds race with a million “what ifs,” and suddenly, not overthinking feels impossible.
Let’s be real—there’s also comfort in holding onto our habits and fears. Giving advice can be freeing because it’s often the right thing to do. But actually living it requires change, and change is hard. We might tell a friend to be more assertive at work or in a relationship, but when we’re in the same boat, it feels safer to stick with what we know, even if it’s not what’s best for us. Sometimes, the gap between what we know we should do and what we want to do is just too wide to bridge.
And then there’s pride. When we give advice, we’re speaking from a place of experience. We’ve been through similar struggles, so we know what should be done. But when we find ourselves in those same situations, there’s this underlying pressure to handle it differently—to do it “better” this time around. Taking our own advice means admitting that we’re still struggling with the same issues, and that can feel like failure. So, instead of following through, we ignore our own wisdom and keep repeating the same patterns.
At the end of the day, giving advice is easy because it’s not our life on the line. But when it comes to taking our own advice, we’re confronted with the reality of our imperfections and the uncomfortable truth that knowing what to do and actually doing it are two very different things.
So the next time you find yourself dishing out wisdom to someone else, take a moment to pause and reflect. Would you actually follow that advice if the roles were reversed? And if the answer is no, it’s worth asking yourself why. As much as we resist it, the advice we give often holds the key to the lessons we still need to learn for ourselves.